Behind Bars
by Demonic Angel Clone
Summary: Michonne keeps calm on the outside, but inside there's a twitch that's she's sure if Merle pressed hard enough, she'd implode. Merle x Michonne
1. Adrenaline

_Behind Bars_

* * *

She's doing her pushups again, rising up, going down, rising up again, her leg stretched out as she alternates sides, chocolate skin rippling and lithe with power just boiling underneath the surface.

Mama always said it was impolite to stare, but it's been awhile since she's said anything, he never considered himself the most polite guy around, and he's been doing so for the past five minutes.

If she's bothered by this, she doesn't say anything. In fact, she doesn't say anything unless it needs to be said. He kinda likes that about her.

He doesn't like, that he likes that about her. He doesn't have anything against her personally; if anything, anyone able to go toe-to-toe with him, hold their own, and still walk away without a scratch is a helluva person in his book. Hell, it's been about two years since the shit hit the fan, and she's still here, still fighting. So yeah, he can respect that. Respect her.

But it's not like he can let things get further than that. She's still Black. He's still an asshole, and he's this close between having a pot to piss in and his ass out on the road. Maybe this _being nice thing_ is a part of his comeuppance.

In any case, he starts talking to her, shooting the shit, really. And occasionally, in the quiet, unsettling way, she talks back, to his surprise.

She rises up. "You want something."

He shrugs, quirks his lips, "A few things." His eyes follow attentively as she lowers herself down and up again. She's not exactly telling him to leave so he interprets that as her way of saying 'oh, then please, continue.' Heh, if only she were so kind. "What I really want is to know why Officer Friendly is taking you and Junior out on a run."

She lowers herself. "If I didn't know any better, I would almost think you care."

"But I do, Mi-_chonne_," He croons, dragging out her name. His grin would be considered disarming to those who knew him, almost charming to those who didn't, and mostly feral. "But really, you hadn't thought about it?" She continues to lower herself undisturbed. "I know you have," Merle singsongs knowingly. "You're too smart for that. Always thinking."

After a moment or so, she rises up into a crouch, lethal as a cat in motion, and stands up. "What's it to you?"

"He's heading out when the Goven'r's bound to have scouts out there. And I'm tellin' ya, the second he crosses that line, all Hell is gonna break loose, and Daryl and I are gonna be in the crossfire again, that's what it's to me. And don't think I don't know that _Rick_ has Daryl under his thumb. He's not takin' him because he thinks I need to be babysat."

She steps up to him. "Do you?"

"Ah…" Shit. "_No_." She bows her head, an eyebrow rising up. "Maybe."

"Maybe," Michonne agrees before walking away.

And dammit, he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the view.

* * *

They get back from the run that night and even under her dark skin, he could see the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

The females rush over to Carl to tend to the fact that the boy is covered in walker blood. The men rush over to Rick to see what he's learned out there.

Michonne stands alone in the corner, and then walks out past the bars. Merle grabs a washcloth Carol left on the table and heads out after her unnoticed.

She stands by one of the big bay windows, guarded in by bars, the moonlight streaming in and lighting her face. She stays cool with her arms crossed despite the fact that her skin is glistening in blood, and he can damn near say what happened without her even having to say anything. Michonne was one tough broad.

She doesn't even blink when he ambles into her line of vision, and she doesn't flinch when he brushes the cloth against her forehead and cheeks. Her eyes stay open and clear on him as he freely cleans off her exposed skin – her shoulders, her biceps, and her hands. When he finishes, Michonne gestures to the door. "Close it."

Merle heads over, shuts the bars with his left hand with a clang. Normally he'd be popping off at the mouth, or saying something just for the hell of saying it, but with all the damn noise on either side of those bars, saying anything is useless right now.

Her hands snake up his chest when he turns around and those dark full lips grab hold of his.

The last time he remembers getting any, the broad was plastered; a real barfly, and a good ole case of coyote ugly. Didn't even bother him. Hell, whoever said light was required when you were bumpin' uglies? Anyway, her name was Bethany, or Britany...Rebecca? And they had a pretty good thing going until this whole _people-rising-from-the-dead-end-of-the-world_ shit started happening. She had a good set of tits. Which was unfortunate because he had to ram a broken beer bottle in her face when she tried to bite him.

Michonne's teeth clamp down on his lower lip as she pushes him up against the wall, and he wraps his right arm around her, careful to not brush her skin with his bayonette. Her hips grind against his and it takes a second before his brain catches up for him and he reacts just as aggressively, spinning them around so she's up against the wall, unzipping her jeans with his one good hand. Thankfully for him, he learned he could do a lot of things one-handed, as long as he was focused with a goal in mind. She works on slipping his vest off, and he tries not to focus on how the metallic taste of blood is somehow turning him on.

Merle gets her jeans down halfway when he crouches down on one knee and he looks up at her with a grin as he tugs her panties down. She's not exactly saying yes, but she's not exactly cutting his head off with her katana either. Besides, he always was a bit…curious.

He swings her leg over his shoulder and she's already so wet, pink in-between downy black hair. Not being one to do anything halfway, he swipes the length of his tongue up the folds of her wet pussy, and she leans her head back, back arching off against the wall as she hisses through her teeth. He starts sucking that bundle of nerves right below her clit like its forbidden fruit and Michonne grinds down against his face in an attempt to stay upright.

Only thing is, he never liked a quiet girl in bed. Seriously, how the Hell do you know if you're doing it right if she's not screaming her head off? But then she starts moaning, wanton and without inhibition as the sound echoes against the prison's walls. Her fingers dig against his scalp as he scrapes his upper teeth against her swollen nub, just lapping up the juices. And hands down, walkers or no walkers, this girl has the sweetest tasting pussy he's ever had. He leans back, chuckling against her fragrant folds, "Yeah, you like that?"

"Stop talking," She groans out.

"Yeah, I bet you haven't had it this good in a while," Merle croons. "When was the last time you got any?"

Michonne stills against him, and even in the dark, even from where he's at, he could see her clear eyes glaze over, if only for a second. It's not long enough to make things awkward because she snaps out of it almost immediately, which he's thankful for.

"I told you to stop talking," Michonne says as she hoists her leg off of his shoulder. She frowns, pursing out her lower lip, looking down at his belt and then back in his eyes. "Take off your pants."

"Shit, would it kill you to say 'please'?" Merle grumbles as he unloosens his buckle.

"Wouldn't wanna risk it," Michonne smirks.

Bitch. "This is how you repay me? After I just got you off? Where are your-"

And coherent thought flees his mind when her tongue wraps around the tip of his dick. How'd she get down there so fast? How-

Merle reaches out and rests his hand against the wall behind her, letting out a groan. Holy shit. "_Holy shit_."

She encases his firm member in her mouth, sucking in her cheeks, which allows her to take him in all the way to the back of her throat – she looks up at him, a cold, steely, and unafraid gaze, and he almost blows his load right then and there. He tilts his head back. "Fuck." He tries to think of something else...Rachel's face as the beer bottle went through her temple, but he can't. All he can see are those fucking defiant and _sexy_ eyes.

Michonne tilts her head back slightly, changing the angle as she cups his balls and squeezes. If her mouth wasn't so preoccupied, she would've laughed at the moan he let out. Her ex used to love that shit, too. She swirls her tongue around the head, going down the shaft, and he hisses when her top row of teeth scrape back over the head.

Doing something like this feels like something she did a lifetime ago, and maybe in this world, it can be considered a lifetime ago. She grabs the base of his shaft and twists, and he tugs on a few of her dreds with his hand. He's not the biggest she's ever had but he's thick, hard. _Alive_. And maybe in this new world, that's all that counts.

She bobs her head back and forth until the head of his dick head the back of her throat, and he lets out an intake of breath as his come slips down it. "_Fuck_ – that feels-," he doesn't even finish that thought when she takes his dick out of her mouth and licks the undershaft of his balls. She smirks up at him in the dark. "Bet you haven't had it this good in a while, White boy," She murmurs, throwing his words back at him. Michonne pulls her panties and jeans up with her when she stands, but Merle has her locked in, blade on one side, hand on the wall on the other.

"Where you running off to in such a hurry, girly?" Merle asks, caressing her right arm. "You just gonna walk off," he shrugs. "Just like that?"

She grabs hold of his still exposed dick, relishes in the feeling of constricting her hand around it and his face as his eye bulge out. "Where I'm running off to, is none of your _fucking_ business. So, I'm just going to walk off, just like that."

And she does. And he doesn't even stop her. The metal clang of the cell block door jars his thoughts and it takes him a minute before he pulls up his trousers, trying to forget the ghost of her fingers tightened over it.

Thing is, he can't really forget it. Not when he fastens his belt buckle, and not even when he shuts his eyes that night. That pink little tongue of hers is still swirling around the head of his cock, even in his sleep, and by the time he wakes up the next morning, his pants are tented and his cock is twitching against the fabric, wanting more. He spits on his hand and strokes himself off just to get some relief.

This isn't going to work. Worse part about this whole fucking thing?

Merle comes at the thought of her eyes ingrained in his memory.

He likes her. He fucking likes her.

"Shit," he mutters, wiping his hand on his pants.

* * *

"The Hell were you last night?" Daryl stomps up to him.

Merle grins, tilts the mug he's holding back. And yeah, the coffee's definitely not as good as the brand they have up there in Woodbury, but at least there is some. "And a good morning to you too, baby brother. And yeah, I did sleep well, thanks for askin'."

Daryl frowns, peering at his face curiously. "What did you do?"

Merle leans back on the counter, "Don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Yeah, I bet you don't…" Daryl grimaces. "You got that shit-eating grin on your face."

"Was eating somethin' baby brother, but it sure ain't shit," Merle takes another swig of his hot beverage. "So, uh…what do you think about this Michonne girl? Looks like Officer Friendly is starting to trust her."

Daryl cocks his head back with his face pinched as if he smelled something really offending. "What do you care?"

Merle shrugs. "Now that you've gone native, I figure it's high time for me to start wondering why you give a damn, is all. I mean, your new BFF is Rick, and suddenly that _chink_ is Korean now, maybe I want to see what it's like on the other side."

"Don't start anything, Merle, I'm serious," Daryl steps up to him like a man, and Merle cocks his head. "I know you got issues playing well with others-"

"Heh, well ain't that the understatement of the year," Merle mutters.

"But I'm not asking you to do this for them, I'm asking you to do this for me." Daryl looks at him all serious and stern, and Merle smiles, raising his hands up in surrender.

"Okie-dokie, little brother. I'll play nice."

Starting with the dark one.

* * *

So, the prompt for this was: "Merle has a humongous crush on Michonne. How would you woo a BAMF like her?" And I thought about it. And then Merle kept making eyes at her, calling her sweetheart, and I was basically done because wow I didn't think I'd like them as much as I do. Their scene last night was amazing too~

More soon.

DAC


	2. Reaction

_Behind Bars_

* * *

When he finds her again, she's gingerly holding the end of her blade with a cloth and cleaning the shaft with another on top of the table out in the courtyard.

She does this religiously every morning. He's only been here a few days and he's already noticed that. She'll do this, then go on sentry duty, then work out about mid-day, grab a bite, head back out on sentry duty…

God, he really needs to find something to do. Fast.

He walks up and, of course, she acknowledges him with silence, completely focused on her katana and not on him. Merle grins, sitting down at the bench. "Good morning, my Nubian princess." If it was any more possible, the scowl on her face deepened. "You know, this is the part where you say hi back."

She swipes the cloth up and down the blade at an agonizingly slow pace. A lesser man wouldn't be near her right now, sitting below her no less. He's seen her with that sword. It's wouldn't take her but a second to end him. And no one here would miss him, except maybe Daryl.

"How'd you sleep last night?" He continues undeterred. "Slept like a baby myself, though that morning wood was a bitch and a half. But all I had to do was give was hand out some good ol' TLC to get the blood flowin'," he chuckles as if he said something particularly funny. "You ever had to do that, Mi-chonne? Give yourself a little release?"

The katana wielder sitting in front of him frowns, huffs through her nostrils.

"Ain't no shame in it, you know. Looking for some release, that is." Merle says. "Gal like you looks like she's had it rough this past year, fightin' for your life e'ryday. Must be pretty lonely."

Michonne stops wiping her sword and bites her lower lip. He knows she's thinking about what he just said. Good. She shouldn't be so damn sure like she doesn't come like any other gal with a cock up her pussy. "Well, I'll just leave you to it then, you know, since you obviously don't feel like movin' that pretty little mouth of yours." She looks up at him in alarm when he strokes her arm from her shoulder to her elbow.

And when he walks away, she finds herself looking after him with narrowed eyes.

Officer Friendly gathers everyone around, lets everyone know about that settlement that got overrun outside of town. Apparently, the guy that's still there is the one who helped him when he got out of his coma (Merle makes a note to himself to thank him for doing that, and hey, if he gets roughed up in the process, it was an accident). This guy is also batshit crazy now, killing off people to feed his walker son.

Point he's trying to make is that there may be other communities up north like Woodbury. Communities that aren't overrun by walkers – yet.

The chinkboy frowns. "We're not leaving this prison."

"We may have to, Glenn." Rick sighs. "Prepare for it. We got walkers out in the front field again, an opening through the back. It's a matter of time before this place gets overrun."

"Yeah, we'll be lookin' at another Crawford situation," Merle drawls from the back, leaning against the wall. Everyone looks up at him, shocked by his presence this close to the group.

"…What's Crawford?" Rick asks.

Merle chuckles humorlessly. "Survival of the fittest colony up in Savannah. They took the strongest men and women – cast out all the children and the elderly. Had a chick from there named Molly come to Woodbury for a bit, said the whole place was overrun faster than a hooker runnin' from her pimp."

The group exchange glances and maybe that little anecdote wasn't going to get spirits up, but dammit if everyone in the group was so damn naïve. They had kids, a damn baby for Christ sake. The Governor had a damn army in the makes. If he wasn't so damn stubborn he probably would've waved a white flag by now. "Now, you wanna bring in some crazed asshole just because he saved your life once upon a time?"

"Brought you in," Rick all but growls, and Merle scoffs with a smile.

"He has weapons," Michonne speaks up, and everyone turns their attention to her. "Lots of them." She refuses to make eye contact with Merle, paying attention to Rick instead. "If you could get him to lend over his armory, we could actually pull this off."

"If he could," Merle drawls slowly, not taking his eyes off of her.

Rick sighs, not having noticed. "Morgan's a mess right now, but if I know anything it's that the man sees reason. He'll help us," the former sheriff finishes confidently. "I know he will." He looks over at Michonne, "You gonna head out with me again?"

And before she can say anything, Merle opens his big mouth. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size, pretty Ricky? Take me. We can have some good ol' fashion bonding time together; stop at a kink shop and grab a pair of handcuffs."

Daryl bows his head, scratching the back of it, Hershel and Glenn frown, and Carol's face flushes of its color.

Rick, however, stays calm. "Because Michonne knows how to keep her mouth shut. And you don't. It's called 'self-preservation', something you can learn from her."

He'd like to learn a lot of things from her, but a closed mouth ain't one of them. "I'm sure," Merle smirks.

It makes everyone uncomfortable, as if Merle knows some deep dark secret that they don't. Michonne scowls at him.

The group soon disperses again, Glenn heading out to the tower to give Maggie a break from guard duty.

Merle walks up after him, falling into step after a moment. "So, I hear you're Korean."

"And I hear that you're a sonofabitch who has no problem with torturing people." Glenn grits out curtly. "Stay away from me, and especially Maggie."

Merle steps into his line of vision. "Easy now," He says holding his arms up. "I'm sorry, okay? For doing that to your face," He says, gesturing to the residing bruises. "For almost killing you, and for putting your girl in that position. I didn't even see her, and from what I heard, he barely even touched her, but it still don't make it right."

"You're damn right it doesn't make it right!" Glenn yells.

Merle purses his lips, shrugs. "Daryl and I came from the same stock, did you know that? Same mom, same asshole father, everything. And yeah, I'm an asshole too, but don't forget that I was the one left up on that damn rooftop, and I was the one who lowered my gun when I saw you again. So don't pretend like you're the only one who was wronged in all this." Glenn huffs, clenching his jaw. "Now I may be a sonofabitch, but I'm tryin'…I'm tryin' to do the right thing, dammit!"

Merle starts breathing hard, wipes the side of his mouth and brow. Damn natives, getting him all worked up.

Glenn frowns, looking at him warily, and then nods. "…Okay. Fine. Whatever. Just –just don't do it again."

And the few moments after that are significantly lighter –awkward, tense, but lighter. "So, uh…" Merle frowns, scratching the back of his head. "You and your girl must be close…but she ain't exactly preggers, now is she?"

"What's your point?" Glenn grits out, not wanting to talk about Maggie or his love life with the likes of Merle.

"You, uh…you wouldn't have any condoms, would you?"

Glenn grimaces, "What do you need them for, it's not like…" Glenn suddenly bristles, "Who? Carol? No, she wouldn't. And you stay away from Beth!"

"No, no, it's not them, no need to get your panties in a twist," Merle sucks in his cheek.

"Then who?" Glenn asks again. "The only other woman here is…" He stops himself when Merle doesn't make eye contact. "Michonne?" Glenn blurts out, his eyes going wide despite the pull, and Merle shushes him.

"Keep it down, Korean." The biker looks around, sees if anyone's heard. "So, you got any, or not?"

"But why would she…you know what, I don't want to know," The former delivery man states, trying to not think too hard about it. "In our cell, there's a bookbag on the lower bunk, there should be a few there. You take anything else, and I mean anything, and I'll know." Glenn parts with that as a warning, and walks off in the direction of the tower.

And as he leaves, Merle thinks that the chinaman ain't so bad.

* * *

It's almost the whole day again before they make it back. Not that he was twiddling his thumbs or anything just waitin'for her. This time they come back toting in various sizes of knifes, guns, and real ammo. Junior in the sheriff's hat is holding a crib and a picture.

Michonne, however, along with a crossbow Daryl's been eyin' since the second she walked in, has the most oddball item of all.

"What in the Hell?" Merle frowns, staring at it.

She unloads a satchel from her shoulder and her katana. "What?"

Merle walks over, picks up the colorful cat sculpture from the bunk. "What are we gonna do wit' this? Beat the Governor's head in?"

She frowns. "You obviously have no taste. Drop the cat."

"I got a taste for things that are good, real good," He murmurs that last part, eyes glinting over her frame in the dark as he sets the sculpture back on the bunk.

"Ass," Michonne mutters, but it's half-hearted. She sighs. "You know, Rick really keeps taking me because he wants to keep us away from each other."

Wrapping his good arm around her waist, he saddles up to her. "And how's that working out for good ol' Officer Friendly?" His grins, his pearly teeth visible in the shadows. His hips align right up to her thigh and he knows she could feel him straining through his jeans.

To his surprise, she doesn't push him away. "I don't like being manhandled." She pauses. "I can be civil, for now."

"And after?"

She smirks. "You may not like me after." Her hands rest over his chest and it feels like last night all over again, except not as urgent this time around. He leans down and he can feel the grin on her face when he flat out misses and kisses her cheek instead.

"Oh, I see how it is," Merle murmurs against her cheek, his whiskers nuzzled up against her face.

"See, I told you." Michonne shrugs with her head craned. "We should take this somewhere else," She adds seriously.

"Not if we're real quiet," Merle singsongs against her temple.

"That'll be hard for you, since you never shut up." It takes him a minute, it really does, but by the time he realizes it, she was already heading out of the cell. She's teasin' him. Playing, really. Her face was serious, but her eyes. Like it was fun for her to leave him here blue-balled.

Probably was.

It's almost dark by the time she heads out, walking past the courtyard. Walkers get more active after dark, so their growls and moans fill the night air, not that it deters him.

In fact, when she walks past that table in the courtyard, ass swaying as the tips of her fingers trace over the top, he considers bending her over it one day and taking her from behind. A little exhibitionism never hurt nobody.

But she keeps going. Through the side enclosure and into the guard tower.

He knew there was a reason why he liked her. Merle damn near skips up those stairs, all excited and shit, grinning beyond all belief. In the dark it seems sinister and lecherous but truth be told it's really that chance of release she's giving him. Thoughts of her being negro, or the amount of men she's fucked in her lifetime, don't even occur to him. That little voice in the back of his mind demanding that he be an asshole because who the fuck does she think she is, blowing hot and cold at the drop of a dime, is tamped down when she reaches for his khakis.

He doesn't bother aiming for her lips this time, learning his lesson. Instead, he peppers her jawline with kisses, aggressively reaches down and squeezes the juncture in-between her legs. Her fingernails bite into the skin over his shoulder blade and he answers by nipping the crook of her neck. He doesn't really mean to but he inhales and instead of death or dirt, she smells like flowers. Daffodils.

She slips his belt off and he's already dropping her zipper down her fly, reaching in and massaging her already damp panties. Her lips part as she takes a breath and it's at this moment that he wishes he still had his other hand so that he could brush her dreds away from her cheek.

She wishes it hadn't been this long since she's felt this.

She used to be happy, giddy even, when she spoke to Mike, even when it wasn't possible for him to speak back after the onset. But she still kept taking, and he'd listen, Terry too. She guesses that must have made her a bit crazy, but there was no one around that knew. She even kept her mumblings down to a whisper when Andrea was around.

Truth is, she just wanted someone she could talk to, even if it was for a short while. So those eight months on the road with Andrea was the best she felt since her boyfriend turned. And it made her betrayal hurt all the more.

She tries to keep her mind and body active, always thinking. But she leans her head back, parts her lips, and just lets go under the pressure. She guesses that this makes her weak, but there's no one around to know.

By the time she comes back down from her momentary high, she notices an odd flash of light when Merle reaches for something in his back pocket and it's not until it's in front of her that she realizes what the foil square is. "How long have you had that?"

He smiles, "Not long."

She takes the package in her fingers. "Wishful thinking?"

"Man's gotta hope, right?"

Michonne smiles despite herself, rips the foil open with her teeth as she loosens his trousers. Rolling the condom over his shaft, he lifts her up with his left hand and holds her up against the wall next to the window. Her legs cross behind his back to keep herself upright and she wraps her arms around his neck for leverage when he eases himself in-between her legs.

He starts nipping at her neck again when he thrusts in, and she bows her head forward, lowering her hips to hit his.

"You know, you should take off your shirt," Merle grits out, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

"You should take off yours," Michonne groans out when he changes the pace and she's practically riding him.

"Hand's kinda full," Merle points out when he feels her clench around him, and he shuts his eyes savoring the sensation.

Michonne leans back against the wall Merle has her thoroughly pressed against and pulls her tank top over her head, unhooking her bra from the front. "You know your shirt can't come off without us ripping it."

He answers her with a silent grin. "Ass," she says, shaking her head, but her head scrapes up against the wall when he thrusts again without warning, her insult becoming a moan. Her fingernails bite into his shoulders when he takes her nipple in his mouth and she arches her back off against the wall.

Merle speeds up the pace and she's got that look in her eyes again, except it's wholly different this time around. It's warm instead of cold, and soft instead of steely, but still determined all the same. He hits that spot right below her clit again and she's telling him not to stop and he wants to hold out as long as he can until he feels her come apart around him.

They both recognize what this is, just two people looking for some release, but she's not all sharp edges like that sword of hers –just soft curves. He has to be careful not to slip because his bayonet is still attached, not that she treated him any different. He's more than thankful for that.

A minute later, he feels her body lock up, and then her pussy tightens uncomfortably around his cock, and he groans out against her skin, a fresh sheen of sweat coating it. His arm trembles from the effort of holding her so long, and before he knows it they're tumbled out on the floor with her on top. He feels her shudder and then he realizes that she's laughing, and its only now that it really hits him that it must be the end of the world because it's like pulling teeth just trying to get this woman to smile, let only laugh.

"What in the Hell is so funny?" He huffs out, trying to seem stern and put-off, but damn, even in the dark, she has a nice smile.

"You," she chuckles. "Me. This."

"You mean, us?" Merle drawls, a pleased grin forming on his face.

"Yeah," she says, laying on his chest. "Us."

So here they lay in the afterglow, sated with the howl of the wind and death below them. He was never really good at pillowtalk, unless it dealt with a few dollar bills on the nightstand. And she's usually so quiet and calculating, that he's come to expect the silence from her.

So it shocks the Hell out of him when she starts talking.

"Why didn't you come after me?"

He doesn't ask what she means because he already knows. "Wanted to see if you could make it on your own, I guess." His voice sounds scratchy, even to his ears. Then again, his throat is extremely dry too, like the air was being sucked right out the room. "Didn't really want to kill you, I told you that."

"We would've killed each other," She surmises, tracing a scar down his torso.

"And that would've been a damn shame." Merle purses his lips. "He was scared of you."

She doesn't ask who because she already knows. "I know. He should've been. Something was...off about him from the start."

"Saved my life," He says, absently squeezing her firm ass.

"Killed many others," Michonne counters quietly, gaze far away in the dark. Merle doesn't disagree.

Instead, he continues his one-handed exploration of her body, and on her thigh there's an odd divot there that makes a ripple on her smooth cocoa skin. "What's this?"

"Gunshot."

Damn. "Did I do that?"

"Mm-hmm," She nods.

"Heh. Always did make an impression on women." Merle's lips quirk upward, but it's more exhaustion guiding his movements than humor. There's a scar on his side that she notices, runs her index finger down it. Her brow furrows, and he chuckles. "Admiring your handiwork?"

"I'm sure there is some other angry Black woman out there that did this one," Michonne murmurs.

"Nah," Merle drawls with a yawn. "Just you."

She rests her chin on her hand over his chest, dreadlocks framed around her face, "And what about you? You always go around shooting girls?"

"Only the pretty ones, sweetheart." Merle smirks, "You know, this is the most I've ever heard you talk."

"I'm surprised you're not talking _more_," Michonne lays her head to the side. "You never shut up."

"Aw, you know you like my voice, Mi-_chonne_; I'm a certified sweet talker." Merle teases, a wide smile spreading his lips thin.

"Stop _talking_," She groans.

He grabs the back of her right leg and pulls it up so that the juncture of her thighs reaches his hips. "Come over here and make me," He buries his head in her neck, nipping at her collarbone as he flips her over.

* * *

First, wow, thanks for all of the reviews, alerts, and the fav! I was rushing to get this one out, so if there are any major mistakes, or even minor ones, sorry about that. In case anyone is wondering, Crawford is part of the Telltale game for the Walking Dead, which Kirkman also helped with so I'm considering it canon and that's why I included it.

It may take a little longer for the next update, but I _do_ update this faster on the twd kink meme, so...

DAC


	3. Control

_Behind Bars_

* * *

It's the next day that Rick announces that he, Daryl, and Hershel will be heading out past Yellow Creek River towards an old factory, which is basically the midpoint between the prison, and Woodbury.

Michonne understands mediation very well, and it's no shock to her that Andrea's the one behind it, but such tactics only work with an intermediary present that has nothing to gain or lose from the session, and that's not Andrea. She doesn't know all the facts, and even if she did, her idealistic views of things are not how you deal with men like the Governor.

Men like the Governor need a bullet right between the eyes.

God, when did she become such a vigilante?

Michonne sighs at the revelation because there's nothing she can do about it now. She's adapted to the world she lives in, and that's all there is to it.

She's also adapted to the fact that whenever Daryl has to do something, and Merle isn't included, he throws a temper tantrum and paces around the cellblock like a barely restrained animal in a cage, or leans against the bars, watching everyone in a predatory way.

Or maybe that's just _her_.

She loads the magazine in her assault rifle and locks the chamber. "Don't you have something you could be doing?"

"You mean, while my brother heads out to a bloodbath courtesy of Rick? No, not really." Merle frowns, hand on his hip. "We should go."

"We have to stay," Michonne reasons, but it's not as if the offer isn't tempting. It is. But there's Andrea to think about, and Rick, and Hershel, and Daryl. And in a way, more than she would like to admit, there's Merle too, who would be kicked out of the group or killed in the crossfire, both being a death sentence.

Michonne looks up at him when he grabs her wrist, and the grip is loose, like he's giving her the option to leave at any time. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

And she honestly can't because she has. Far too much to be considered a passing thought.

"Think about it," Merle continues. "You and me go while they're gone, we know the layout. We wait for him to show up, you bum rush the Governor, I'll take care of Martinez, and _we end this_," he ends gruffly, and she didn't realize that he moved in so close until she feels his breath tickling the shell of her ear. The thought of taking out the Governor is more than tempting, it's damn seductive. The thought of her katana impaling his deceitful face the way it did with his walker daughter…

"It's too much of a risk," she finds herself saying. "Not that I think a negotiation will work, but… there are too many people in this." Too many lives on the line. She messed up last time they did anything like that, and while she doesn't have regrets, she'd prefer not having a repeat performance.

Later, she has to hold him back with Maggie because Glenn stood in his way, and she finds herself reminding him of the possible repercussions of it all. Other people. Other casualties.

She still hears his voice like a caress in her head, urging her on, her katana sliding straight through the Governor's maxilla, blood coming away in erratic gushes as she pulls it out of his head. The thought excites her. It also frightens her down to her core because she shouldn't be feeling such a thrill at the thought.

She's killed to protect herself. But it doesn't seem like the same thing when she finds herself fantasizing about it, so she keeps herself busy. She organizes weapons and makes sure that they're all loaded. She'll reach behind herself, ensuring that her sword is in its scabbard even though there is no other place it could be.

Michonne keeps calm on the outside, but inside there's a twitch that's she's sure if Merle pressed hard enough, she'd implode. Which is why she tries to keep to herself for the remainder of the day.

Tries, being the operative word.

He watches her in the jamb of the cellblock door as she loads an M-7 and he watches her when she heads out on patrol and she feels this tingle down her spine provided from his eyes, his callous fingers down her back, and he's yards away from her.

Her fingers twitch in anticipation, remembering the feeling of him so wholly and completely in her control in her hands. The careless power she felt when he yielded to her touch. She feels warmth pooling between her thighs and clenches her legs together as she scrubs her blade in an attempt to get the dried blood off. Being restless, she finds herself aching for it when all she wants to do is acknowledge that it didn't happen in the first place.

…It was Merle, after all. But he was warm under her touch. _Alive_.

She frowns at the thought because it was like she was actually considering a repeat performance. An asshole was still an asshole no matter how they were in the cover of night. In that sense it wouldn't make her any better than Andrea.

She stops wiping her blade and takes a breath.

Looking over her left shoulder, he's there, silently watching, and she keeps hoping he'll say something, anything, that will convince her once again that he's nothing but a redneck bastard that would endanger the lives of everyone else for his brother.

But then she can't. Because it occurs to her that this anger isn't really at him, and more at the Governor. If she was still on her own, she wouldn't have hesitated to go kill him. And now she is.  
So she thinks about it some more.

And when Rick heads back and tells them that they're now in a war, she knows what she must do.

* * *

The creak of the cell block door loudly fills the room and he looks up from Hershel's Bible to see her leaning inconspicuously against the bar. "You're right," she murmurs when he doesn't speak. "I should go kill the Governor."

Closing the holy book, he sets it face down beside his bunk, a roguish grin darkening his face. "So when are we headin' out? Now?"

"_We're_ not doing anything," She locks eyes with him then, pushing herself off from the jamb. "_I'm_ going to go kill the Governor," she emphasizes. "He wants _me_."

"He wants the prison," Merle points out, sucking in his cheek.

"He wants me more," She says in a way he can't dispute, and she closes the door quietly, walking in front of him.

Merle narrows his eyes and puffs out his chest, "So then, why tell me? Huh? What'chu gonna do? Go play martyr?"

"No," Michonne says as she lowers herself over Merle's set apart legs. "I'm just going to make him think he's getting what he wants." Closing her legs around his hips, he pulls her further into his lap with his left arm. "And then I'm going to make him suffer until his last breath," she wraps her one arm around his neck as her breath fans over his face. "But before I do, I need to make sure that no one comes after me. I do better on my own."

He gives her a measuring look following her words and then nods, "So, you need someone to distract the natives while you head on your merry way."

Her other hand descends downward, gripping him fully in-between his leg only covered by the denim. Looking him right in the eye with her intense dark ones, she starts massaging his hardening member right through his jeans. "You got a problem with that?"

"Nope," he twists her to the side so she's laid out back against the sheets and as his mouth sucks against her pulse point, his one good hand working his way between her legs, she holds back a smile because she knew he was good at following orders. Her dreds fan out on the pillow below her and her back arches off the bed, her hips begging to reach his when the intrusion of his callous fingers stroke the midpoint below her clit.

Her hands work of their own provocation, slipping off his belt, reaching for his shaft because she wants to remember this. She's not foolish enough to believe that she'll make it out alive after taking out the Governor. By now he would be bound to have found a way to take her alongside with him.

"Like that", she breathes out when he twists two of his fingers and pushes them upward to the hilt of his knuckles. Her moans drown out all sensation, and he covers her mouth with his other forearm and he keeps thrusting in and out in quick succession. She spills herself on the sheets below when he takes his fingers out, and her eyes are barely awake when she catches him suckling his fingers with a dead set grin.

Drawn to her like a moth to the flame, she writhes underneath him in the most tortuous way - legs parted as he makes a home between her thighs and mouth muffled against his bayonet as she comes with her eyes clenched tight.

She tastes like honeysuckle against his tongue - at first slightly bitter but oh so sweet, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks on the digits in his mouth, trying to pull more of that taste. "Damn Mi-_chonne_," Merle snickers, licking the last of her juices clean from his fingers as she huffs out stilted breathes against his forearm. "I didn't know you could be that loud."

She bites down on her plump lower lip, grasping for the hem line of his shirt.

"Off," she says impatiently as her tugs unsuccessfully get very far up his torso. She doesn't want to appear needy or desperate because she's not - but she wants this, and she wants this now. Something, anything, to get her mind off what awaits her in the morning. Her leg curls around his right and on his left side she pushes his shoulder blade, turning him around so that he was below her and she had better leverage to take off his wife beater.

In the dark she can see his upper body riddled with scars and divots over sun kissed skin, firm and unyielding under her touch. She notices ever present bruises that won't fade away, the battering a sign of domestic abuse. Michonne unbuttons her vest surely under his attentive gaze as he pulls away at the duct tape holding his bayonet from his arm and her hand trails from below his pectorals down a line of curly blond hair below his navel.

Her hands reach behind her back then, unclasping her bra and pulling the straps down her arms, and she leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his chest and she unbuttons with his jeans with practiced and nimble fingers. When his hips buck upwards to meet hers, she looks up at him expectantly.

If he were an idiot (or a _pussy_, you know, take your pick) this would be the time in which he would ask her if she really wanted to do this, or that she didn't have to face the Governor alone, or that he would tell everyone what she was really planning, but seeing that he wasn't an idiot (or a pussy), he doesn't insult her with pretty little sentiments like that because she doesn't need them.

What she needs is warm, pliable flesh. Something to fuck before shit goes downhill and she ends up being fucked. And being the Good Samaritan that he was, Merle Dixon was only all too willing to be that flesh. And people said he couldn't take one for the team. _Hah! _

She pulls his boots off quickly, and makes fast work of pulling off his jeans with the only assistance provided from him being his raised hips off the cot. By the time she presses down on him, he's rock hard and aching and he can't remember the last time he was turned on like this, with hands gripping his throbbing member that were not his own and her dark, intense eyes staring him down as she expertly rolls her thumb over the pointed head. His cock twitches and he grunts out a breath, trying to concentrate and hold out, but her gaze is unwavering and he doubts he could last much longer.

See, what made Michonne sexy wasn't just the fact that she could kick ass (even if that was a bonus) or the fact that at any time he couldn't tell what she was thinking, (even if the fact both frustrated and intrigued him) but the fact that she was utterly and wholly unafraid. She knew he would run off to kill her, yet she left Woodbury anyways with her head held high. She holds his most sensitive part in her hands and she knows she's got him right where she wants him -at her whim. He doesn't even mind it.

He comes when her tongue licks a line up his shaft before it's covered by that clever mouth of hers, and dammit she feels so good around him, he wouldn't mind keeping her there forever.

"_Fuck_," he breathes out, grasping her supple ass cheek in his hand and pulling it towards his weeping cock. He needs to be inside her right now, and he sure as hell isn't going to apologize for it. "C'mon girl," Merle rasps, finger tracing that gunshot wound he gave her a couple of weeks back.

"Not yet," Michonne smirks in the dark.

Sinking his head back into his pillow, he rasps, "Don't keep me waitin', darlin'."

Michonne's considering these next few moments - probably her last - of doing something driven by her own will before dawn hit the prison with its unforgiving light. Tomorrow will be the day Woodbury falls with its tyrannical leader at his knees under the blade of her sword. Tomorrow she kills the Governor because if she doesn't, he'll kill her first, slowly, tortuously, without her being in control.

And if not, then she'll die trying.

But tonight, she lowers herself until she settles on Merle's hips, moist warmth and pleasure flooding her senses. Tonight, she rides him hard and fast as he gropes at her breast, leaning upward to capture a dark, pert areola between his thin lips and she cries out at the sensory overload, pulling up and grinding down at every interval until he's buried deep within her heat and she closes around him, her walls contracting as he thrusts up, waves of her orgasm washing over her.

Merle pulls out, tumescence flowing freely from his now limp cock, and Michonne lies down bonelessly next to him on the cot, a fresh sheen of sweat coating both of their skin. He turns his head and his grey eyes are calm, like they've just witnessed the ending of a hurricane, and he sweeps a couple of wayward dreds away from her face with his left hand.

It's only now that she notices, lying on his right side, the lack of a hand as his exposed arm ends, bayonet and prosthetic lying on the ground. He notices her noticing, and glares, grey eyes suddenly stormy, "What'chu lookin' at, _girl_?"

Trailing a finger down his weathered right arm, past his elbow and down towards where his wrist begins, she looks at him calmly. "This."

Merle frowns, looking away. "Don't."

"Why?"

She sees him grimace, and then his face relaxes into a mournful expression that she can't discern.

"Is it because you had to cut it off?" Michonne murmurs, having heard the story from Glenn.

Merle sniffs. "Did wha' I had t' do. I ain't ashamed of tha'."

"You shouldn't be," she agrees, and her fingers feel cool as she curls her fingers around his lower arm. Merle swallows past the lump in his throat, fighting back a shudder at the foreign feeling of someone touching the area so close to his stump.

"Dammit, you got what ya wanted," He grits out. "I ain't tellin' 'em that you're goin', and ya got one last _fuck_ outta your system, now get the hell out." Merle spits cruelly and turns over to his left, that feeling of being over exposed and feverish washing over him like that time on the rooftop in Atlanta. When she doesn't move, he growls, "_Get the fuck off my bed_, ya hear? I ain't wan' ya here anymore, ya got what you wanted!"

He feels the cot shift, and he almost take a breath of relief, thinking that she was leaving, but she only shifts onto her elbows, looking at his track marked back curiously. He quickly turns back to his right side, "_Why the hell are ya still here?!_"

"Because I want to be," Michonne replies coolly.

Merle glares at her, "Well, I don't." His tense brows relax under her unyielding stare, and he huffs out, "It's my damn business. Mine. All of these damn people look at Rick like he's a motherfuckin' saint, but in the end he's no better tha' the next asshole out there in this shit-eating world. At leas' I'll tell ya to yer face if I'ma fuck ya over, but that shit he did? I wouldn't do tha' to a dog."

He continues on, "An' then Daryl? He looks at 'im like he's so damn special. All of these people do, and I'm just the asshole they rather had stay dead." Michonne doesn't blink during his tirade, doesn't move. "You don't look at me lik' tha'. Not anymore."

"No, I guess not," she resigns. Merle was a lot of things; impulsive, temperamental, overly aggressive, careless – but anyone would have to be a fool to not see his worth in a world like this where there was no law, and survival was all that mattered. "And after tomorrow, they won't either."

She presses her body flush against the cot, laying her head over her arms, eyelids feeling heavy. She could close her eyes for a couple of hours. Sleep and still be up before the sun.

"He's not gonna kill ya when ya see 'im again," Merle rumbles against her dark skin, lips traveling down her shoulder blade, whispering horrors in the confined space. "He'll keep ya alive, torture you, fuck you until you wish you was dead, and hang you until you are. You'll be the ultimate trophy."

She looks at him over her shoulder, and smirks, "Can't wait."

* * *

Okay, so this will _probably_ (and I say that tenatively) be the last bit of smut for a while, since I have to consider other things like _forming a plot_ and _character development_. Ugh. The things I do in order to write.

In other news, my feels are all over the place. I noticed an influx of reviews, faves, and alerts this weekend, for which I was _very_ appreciative, and then _that damn episode aired_, and _ruined_ all of my Merle/Michonne canon dreams. Damn you Scott Gimple. (No, seriously, I love your writing, don't stop). So, now I'm writing this, and I'm at an impasse because their dynamic was so good, and he held the door for her!...And he saved her!...And he let her go!...And she almost followed him!..._Gahhhhh_. Don't even get me started on Daryl.

Anywho, I'm hoping more Merlonne (by the way, thank you **what evil lurks **for the portmanteau!) to pop up. Like, Merle and Beth have more fanfics, yo. And it's cool (okay, it's hot), and I'ma let you finish, but... c'mon, you can't deny Merle's chemistry with his Nubian princess. So far we have _Her new pet_ by **kittyaurorasan**, if you're looking for a bit (_a lotttttt_) of...uh, domination, and lol they're in a fridge. Then there's _A Familiar Taste of Poison_ by **VioletSunrise**, if you're looking for a nice dose of dubcon with a heaping of _ohmygawdthat'ssohot_ set in Woodbury. And finally there's _Black Beauty_ by **Buster's Jezebel** if you want a cute lil drabble, you know. Really, I want more though, so...

More soon.

DAC


End file.
